


Here's To Drinks in the Dark (at the End of My Road)

by Brightershadows



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Billy Hargrove Needs Love, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Caring Steve Harrington, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Heavy Angst, Homophobic Language, Hurt Billy Hargrove, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Neil Hargrove Being an Asshole, Oblivious Max, Sad Billy Hargrove, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2020-09-24 09:55:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightershadows/pseuds/Brightershadows
Summary: Two weeks after his mom left, Billy returned to school. Most of the bruises had faded, and there were none left on his face. He wanted someone, anyone, to ask where he’d been. A teacher, the recess lady, one of his friends. Even creepy Ellen, who no one liked. He wished desperately for someone to be his saving angel. But no one was. No one asked. Instead he heard whispers behind his back, about how his mom hated him so much that she abandoned him. No one made eye contact with him. No one saved him.Billy was six years old when he learned that no one loved him. (How could anyone love a monster).





	1. Chapter One

When Billy Hargrove was 14, he got a girlfriend.

She was three years older than him. Tall. Beautiful. She had dark, long hair, eyes like a looming, dangerous storm, and a personality to match it. 

The first time it happened, he expected it. Even as a fourteen-year-old, Billy was a cocky bastard. He flirted with everyone and anyone, was smooth and sultry. ( _ Just like his dad).  _

Vanessa caught him, one day, when she came up behind him in the hallway, talking with one of him classmates. He was leaned against one of the hideous yellow lockers that the school decidedly liked, his body turned to face her, face close to hers. He put on a seductive smile, biting his lower lip and releasing it as his mouth curled up, eyes dark and intense. The girl was blushing furiously, nervous and flattered by the freshman who partied with the seniors, the future king of their massive California high school. 

“So, you  _ will  _ get me those notes, right?” he drawled, voice low and seductive, raising an eyebrow in encouragement.

“O-of course, I’ll just go copy them tonight and…” Billy felt a cold hand with slim fingers grasp his shoulder, fingers digging into the skin stretched tight across its broad muscle. 

“Who’s this, Billy?” Vanessa asked, her voice sweet and curious, but her nails biting his body. His eyes widened at her appearance. 

His body twisted towards her, opening up to her presence. “No one,” he murmured into her ear, past the glittering diamond earring that hung elegantly there, displaying her worth and her family’s wealth all at once. “Just a sweetheart who’s going to do me a little favor, isn’t that right?” he directed to the young girl in front of him, bright blue eyes watching the golden couple of the school with admiration and longing. She nodded vigorously, desperate to please the royalty in front of her. 

Vanessa smiled coldly. “Run along then,” she said with a flick of her fingers. The girl, like a servant to its master, took off in haste. 

  
  
  
  


That night, they were in the back of Vanessa’s car, parked on the cliff overlooking the California coast. Shirtless, Billy was pushed up against the window, Vanessa leant over him, lips crushing against one another in passion. Billy always liked kissing her. Her lips were soft and more experienced than anyone his age. She always did what she wanted with him; she always knew what to do in everything. It helped him forget. 

Suddenly, she broke away from him, sitting back on her knees, eyes blazing an icy black anger. She grabbed his chin, her fingernails subtly hinting at their danger, daring him to break eye contact with her. 

“Why were you talking to that girl today?” her voice was hard with distrust. 

His brow furrowed. “Who, the nerd?” 

Her nails bit into the skin of his face, a brief, hard indication of her dislike of his tone. “Don’t speak to me like that,” she growled. “Why were. You talking. To her.”

“I was just asking her for the notes from history, honest,” Billy explained cautiously. His eyes darkened, his head tilted slightly to the side, a smirk on his lips. “You know,” he leaned closer, her fingers loosening on his face. “The ones that I missed because of an… adventure… in the bathroom with you,” he breathed, face centimeters from hers. 

A sharp, loud smack cracked through the air. Billy flinched back as his cheek pulsed with a stinging pain. Vanessa’s hand stayed in the air, listening to the ringing of her slap that filled the silent air. She grabbed his long blond hair, yanking his head back to level with hers. “ _ Never _ flirt with another girl again, do you understand me?” Her voice was as dangerous as the storms hiding in her dark eyes. 

He nodded. He had expected it, after all. He flirted with another girl. He was wrong. She caught him. He deserved to be punished  _ (he always did).  _

  
  


*

  
  


Billy can’t remember a time when his father loved him. Scratch that-- he can’t remember a time that  _ anyone  _ truly loved him. He thought, for a while, that his mom did. She got hit, like him, and she always liked to watch him surf, liked to walk on the beach while he relaxed in the water. But she never said it, those words, instead she left him behind, a sacrifice in the hands of a monster  _ (she knew there was one in him too). _

He remembers that day, the day she left him, remembers the confusion, fear, terror, hurt. It was a beautiful day. A Friday. On the bus ride home, all the kids were jittering with excitement, ready for a weekend on the beach, one of the first ones warm enough to go into the water without a wetsuit on  _ (not that Billy ever could) _ . The sun was shining, and even Billy was smiling and laughing as he got off the bus, waving goodbye to his friends, hopeful for the first time in weeks that maybe, just maybe, this weekend could be fun, free of the fighting, the screaming, and the pain. 

He stood on the sidewalk for a while, head tilted up to the golden sun that basked his small body. His eyes were closed, and he watched the patterns of light that appeared under his eyelids. It was a brief, wonderful period of contentment. 

He walked into the house with a smile still on his face, hope still in his heart. “Mom?” he called out. He walked into the kitchen, where she usually was, sitting at the table reading a book, or standing by the window, staring out at the seaside, eyes glazed in a haze of a different place. But there was no mom, no book. The dirty dishes from breakfast still sat in the sink, the curtains drawn, the lights off. 

“Mom, where are you?” Billy called, running to the living room, dining room, upstairs. He flung all the bedroom doors open, seeing nothing and no one, his confusion turning to panic. He ran outside, frantic to find his only ally in the nightmare of his home, his small legs tripping down the path to the beach, past all the beautiful houses full of beautiful people and beautiful families. When he reached the seaside, he looked up and down the coast, panic clenching his heart, shortening his breaths, tightening around his throat. He screamed for her. He cried for her. But she never came. _ (No one ever did).  _

Neil Hargrove arrived home late that night, as usual. He stormed into the house, calling out for his wife, finding no one but his son, shaking with fear and apprehension. When he looked in the closet, all his wife’s belongings were gone, a note left on the bed. He didn’t bother reading it. Billy sat on the couch in the living room, eyes clenched shut, praying for someone to come help him, terrified of what was to come. 

Neil’s footsteps were like gunshots, firing down the stairs one at a time, angry and brutal. He stormed over to Billy on the couch, fist clenching around his collar, yanking him to his feet. The first punch was brutal. Billy’s jaw cracked; he stumbled back, barely managing to stay on his feet. Usually, one punch was enough, if not two. Usually, Neil would hit him and then send him away to nurse his wounds. But that day was nothing like usual.

Billy can’t remember how many times his dad hit him; he was knocked to the floor, his head cracking against the corner of the polished dark wood of the coffee table. He was kicked till breathing was all but impossible, hit till not a piece of his torso was unbruised. As his eyes lost focus, his consciousness wavering until it was gone, the last sight Billy remembered was his father still kicking, punching, roaring, screaming. The last thing he remembered hearing was his horrible voice. 

“This is  _ all  _ your fault.”

  
  


*

  
  


_ (It always was). _

  
  


* 

  
  
  


After that day, the worst day of Billy’s life, he didn’t show up to school for two weeks. The school called, asking about his absence, and Neil told them that Billy’s mother had gone missing, and they were dealing with the fallout. Billy was a wreck, he said, all charm and charisma. No one ever doubted him for a second. 

In truth, the first three days, Billy couldn’t move so much to roll out of bed and get to the bathroom. His body hurt in places he never imagined. His head pounded, dried blood crusted in his curly locks. He cried for his mom. He cried for himself. And he cried for someone to come save him from this hell. 

When Billy was finally able to stand for more time than it took to get to the toilet, his dad dragged him out to the living room.

“Clean this shit up,” he grunted before leaving to get drunk at a bar. Billy looked down at  _ this shit. _ It was his own blood, dried and staining the carpet a dark red. It looked like someone had spilled a bottle of red wine on the carpet. His mom did that once, knocked over the bottle, and Neil had given her a black eye for it. He made her clean it up too, as Billy had watched. He remembered seeing her crying on her knees, scrubbing the carpet with a bucket of bleach beside her. He watched her distress, scared to see his mother so broken.  _ (To know that he was broken too). _

Billy pulled out the bleach and started scrubbing.

  
  
  


Two weeks after his mom left, Billy returned to school. Most of the bruises had faded, and there were none left on his face. He wanted someone, anyone, to ask where he’d been. A teacher, the recess lady, one of his friends. Even creepy Ellen, who no one liked. He wished desperately for someone to be his saving angel. But no one was. No one asked. Instead he heard whispers behind his back, about how his mom hated him so much that she abandoned him. No one made eye contact with him. No one saved him.

Billy was six years old when he learned that no one loved him.  _ (How could anyone love a monster). _

  
  


*


	2. Chapter 2

Billy Hargrove was seven years old when Neil got his first girlfriend. 

She was nice enough. Minimal education. Young. Pretty. Neil met her at a bar, took her home with him that first night, and she never left, not for a while at least. Billy spent that whole first night awake, listening to the sounds coming from his father’s room, squeezing his eyes shut. He tried to imagine he was in a different place. A happy place. 

He imagined his mom was there, smiling, laughing. They were on a beach; the sun was shining, bright, perfect, and the waves of the ocean cast a sweet, sweet sound that brought a smile to Billy’s face  _ (he never smiled anymore).  _ He surfed, and his mother laughed, a beautiful, chiming sound that Billy missed with an ache that held tight over his heart, never letting go, only squeezing, like chains that slowly choked the life out of their prisoner. 

But in this imaginary place, with the sun that always shined, and the beach that was always beautiful, the chains did not matter. But even in this imaginary place, Billy could hear his father  _ (only  _ father  _ never dad)  _ in the next room over, could sense his presence in the prickling of his skin, the tension in his shoulders, the tightening of his chest. He could always sense his father. There was never any peace.

The next morning, Billy got on the bus with shadows under his eyes, fear in his mind  _ (it never left), _ and chains clinking their way around his heart. He lost focus. In class, he didn’t even try to spell out any of the vocab words.  _ Love, _ the teacher said.  _ Spell love, Billy _ .  _ How about friendship?  _ But how can Billy spell a word when he has no idea what it really means.  _ (He never will). _

  
  


That year, Billy’s report card came home with no shining stars. _Inadequate, _it seemed to say in category after category. The teacher wrote a note to Neil in the comments. 

_ Mr. Hargrove,  _ it said.  _ Billy has proven himself to be smart, but it seems that he does not try very hard to succeed. Most of the children enjoy learning at our school; Billy seems to be stuck in a state of laziness. I was hoping that you would be able to help him-- to push him-- to succeed. He has potential, Mr. Hargrove. If we can fish it out of him, he might very well have a bright future ahead of him.  _

“Boy!” Neil’s voice rang out in the kitchen, through the house, like a gunshot. “Get down here. Now.”

The tone of his voice left no room for argument. Billy knew, even at the age of seven, that the longer it took to follow the instructions, the angrier Neil would be. He stumbled down the stairs, his little legs failing to keep up with the speed that Billy wanted--needed--to go. When he arrived in the kitchen, he saw the report card clutched in his father’s hand, lowered his head in shame. 

He knew his father would be disappointed. He knew his teacher disapproved of his attention and attitude in school. But it was hard to learn why rain falls when all he hears at night are the horrible, loud sounds coming from his father’s room. It’s hard to be invested in whatever adventure Jack and Annie are up to when all he can think about is why his mom had to leave him. He  _ knows _ his report card is bad, and he  _ tried _ to be good, but he just couldn’t succeed. 

“I expect more of you,” his father said, hand clenching the document , crumpling it in the tightness of his fury. “Lazy. Inadequate. This is not good enough,”  _ (you are not good enough).  _ “I think it’s time you learned that a man has to earn things. He only gets what he deserves,”  _ (you deserve this).  _

Billy cried himself to sleep that night, cheek swelling on the pillow beneath him, his heart hurting most of all.  _ (He’ll never be good enough).  _

  
  


*

  
  


A man has to earn things. His privileges, his rights. That’s the lesson that Billy Hargrove started to learn when he was seven years old. Neil Hargrove never got tired of teaching it. 

It started with small things. Billy lost his pencil, and his father refused to give him a new one. He ran out of lunch money, and Neil never gave him more. Those things, Billy figured out. He ripped the pencil pouch out of the hands of the nerd who sat behind him in class, sneering and threatening him with his fist if the nerd dared to complain to the teacher. He grabbed food off of the kids he sat by at the lunch table, found apples and bananas in the “share box” that the lunch ladies put out, the box that all the kids dumped uneaten food into. Billy adapted. But the lesson got harder.

The summer before third grade, Billy outgrew most of his clothes. The old ones were mainly what his mother had bought for him almost two years previous. His shorts were tight around his thighs, his shirts ripped and faded. The pants that would be pulled out for winter ended above his ankles, and his toes were crushed in all the shoes he wore. He waited, with a hope that should have left long ago with his mother’s departure, for his father to notice, to give him something to wear, take him to the store, anything. He never did  _ (who would give comfort to a monster).  _

The week before he started third grade, Billy decided to ask his father to buy him a new pair of shoes. Billy  _ was _ Neil’s son, after all. One of the guys at the beach said that most dads just buy their kids off in place of an apology. “Dad just sent me one of those new Armani watches,” Billy overheard him telling his friends. The guy scoffed. “The price is just an apology for running away to Europe with his new mistress again.”

Billy wasn’t really sure what an Armani watch was, nor how expensive it was, and he definitely didn’t understand what the guy meant by  _ mistress _ , but he did get the message: father’s buy forgiveness with material things. And, with that same hope that didn’t leave when it should’ve, with that same hope tied to the chain wrapped around his heart, he hoped that maybe, just maybe, Neil would buy him forgiveness. 

School was to start the day after Labor Day. Calculating, Billy decided to approach Neil on Thursday, so that Neil had two days to consider the offer and make plans before the long weekend. He chose to do so in the morning, so that Neil, if the question was taken unkindly, would have to go to work, and a potential beating might be avoided. 

All night Wednesday night, Billy lay awake, anxiously tossing and turning, reciting the question and approach that he planned to give over and over in his head, whispering it to make sure he knew how the words felt on his lips. He never fell asleep that night. When the sun rose, he watched the sky from his open window, turning rose, lilac, and gold, lighting California in its beauty, and he hoped that it was a sign of impending success from the heavens  _ (when will he learn that beautiful days weren’t so for him). _

He heard it when his father woke. He waited as Neil clunked around the upstairs, preparing for the upcoming day at work. Around 7:00, the stairs thudded with each step the man of the house took down, one at a time, heavy and hard. Billy thought that the sound was echoing the sound of his heart, thumping heavily in his chest, anxiety threatening to overwhelm it. 

_ (Da-dump, da-dump, da-dump) _

When Billy was certain that Neil had finished making his first coffee of the day, he headed downstairs as well, steeling himself to ask the simple request.  _ He cares,  _ he told himself.  _ He wouldn’t be teaching all those lessons if he didn’t. He  _ cares. 

Neil Hargrove was sitting at the kitchen table, staring out the same window that his wife had done so many times, eyes gazing at the same different place that she had, a world away. His coffee mug sat in front of him, a dark blue-green sharply splashing on the plain beige wood of the table. Steam wafted from its half-full contents, curling into the air like smoke from a dying fire of embers. 

Billy cleared his throat.  _ (Da-dump, da-dump, da-dump).  _ “D-dad?” His voice came out weak, pathetic, barely a whisper. Neil didn’t look away from the window, from the nothingness that seemed to enrapture those who looked at it so very much. Billy curled his fingers inwards, nails digging into the skin of his palms. The sensation of those half-moon crescents engraving themselves into his skin grounded him. He stood up a little straighter, a little stronger. 

“Father?”

Neil snapped out of his reverie, eyes sharp and filled with a dark distaste. His grip on the coffee cup tightened noticeably, fingers clenching around its ceramic surface. Billy met his eyes steadily, eight years old and filled with a courage that blossomed from the hope in his naive chest. 

“I was wondering if you could get me a new pair of shoes,” he continued, voice stronger and steadier than his heartbeat in his chest  _ (da-dump dadumpdadump) _ . “Mine are-- I haven’t had new ones since-- in a while, and my feet grew, I think. School’s starting next week, and I was hoping to have a new pair by then--”

“ _ Jesus _ . Would you just shut that stupid fucking mouth already?” Neil’s voice was low, threatening, a growl of anger that was seeming to be bubbling towards the surface. 

_(Dadumpdadumpdadumpdadump) _“I-I’m sorry, I just--” 

_ Crash.  _

Neil flew up from his chair, faster than Billy could react, throwing his coffee cup the ground, ceramic shards flying everywhere, still-warm coffee wetting the floor like mud on white carpet. “Didn’t I tell you to shut the  _ fuck _ up!” Billy’s father raged, fury turning his neck and face red, dark red, red like the blood Billy had scrubbed from the carpet after his mom had left.

“I told you,” Neil seethed. “A man has to  _ earn _ his privileges. You haven’t earned  _ shit. _ ”

  
  
  


An hour later, the door slammed shut behind Neil as he left for work, the last of his anger dissipating with the satisfaction of the sound. Billy was left lying in the puddle of cold coffee and broken shards. He felt like, maybe, he was just like this coffee cup. Broken into pieces, useless, spilling onto the floor like mud on white carpet.  _ (That’s all he’d ever be: a stain on the pristine world around him).  _

  
  
  


Neil never bought Billy clothes again. Instead, Billy found himself growing increasingly familiar with the Lost-and-Found of his school. He made it a habit, popping into the room once every two weeks after school, when no one would be around. He tried on all the clothes and shoes piled around the room, stocking up on the things that were too big for him, hoping to grow into them in the future. That’s what Billy was always trying to do: prepare for the future that always seemed to hurt.

Billy also learned another way to get things: by playing the willing tool. All of Neil’s girlfriends tried to insert themselves into the Hargrove household permanently, overcome by Neil’s charisma and charm. They’d take a look at Billy, and he’d let them watch him at breakfast from across the table. He’d smile and act like the perfect, innocent child, and each time they’d fall for it. The girlfriend would take him out to the mall, try to get to know him, buy him a pair of shoes or a new outfit, and then always sit across from him at a greasy food court lunch table, watching him lick a melting ice cream cone and trying to win his favor, to insert herself into his life. For a while, it would always work. Billy always liked the beginning of all his father’s relationships.

The girlfriends would all eventually move in, infatuated and in love with Neil, his job, his home. They’d keep Billy up at night, loud in the bedroom, always loudest at the beginning of the relationship and at the end. They’d watch Neil slowly reveal his true nature, the way he treated his son, the anger he kept hidden inside. They’d listen to him abuse his son, first with words, always, and gradually with his fists. He always held that part in for as long as possible, which made it so that the first beating after a sober stretch was always the worst. Always.  _ (He had a lot to be punished for anyway). _

Eventually, every girlfriend would pack up and leave, silent and stony. Never once did they ask Billy to come with them. Never once did they ask if he was okay, if he’d be okay. They left him with a monster because he was a monster too. _ Why would anyone help a monster? _

Billy was eight years old when he learned he wasn’t worth anything. It was a lesson that everyone kept teaching. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos; they are all read and loved by me! Hope you enjoy this one too.

Billy Hargrove was nine years old the first time he won a fight. 

It was winter, he remembered. Colder than usual, for California, although that just meant that air brought a chill with it when the wind shifted, and at night it was better to wear a coat than not. The sky was a crystal clear bluebird blue, fluffy white clouds dotting the atmosphere in isolated places. The sun shone down, thawing the ground from the overnight cold that had snuck its way into even the warmest parts of California. 

Billy stood out on the blacktop of his school’s playground, emotions a turmoiling storm inside him, bruises fresh from his last beating inked on the skin under his long sleeves. He was sad, and hurt, and confused, and he just longed for a family like all those that seemed to surround him. He wanted a mom who made cookies for him to eat when he got home. He wanted a dad to play basketball with, who loved him and joked with him and never  _ hurt  _ him like his father did. He just wanted to be loved. 

Most of all, Billy was angry. He wanted the stupid kids around him to hurt like he hurt, to know what it feels like to be black and blue around the torso, to be in pain, to be punished, for everything and anything. They messed up, just like he did. So why was he the only one to be disciplined?  _ (They don’t deserve it like he does). _

The kid was an asshole. The class king, always forcing the nerds in the class to do him homework for him, pushing the children in the younger grades around on the playground, shoving them to the ground and covering their wool coats and thick jeans with prickly playground bark, their hands with splinters. He was an asshole. At least, that’s what Billy always said whenever someone asked why he did it  _ (himself most of all) _ . 

“Hey, Hargrove!”

Billy turned toward the voice that called out his name, the breeze stinging his cheeks with its cold dancing fingers. King-Kid sauntered over to him, his lackies following, every bit the spoiled bratty child one would think him to be. His coat was a luxury one from the last Christmas vacation to Europe he’d apparently been taken on, his jeans worth more than Billy’s entire closet. Than Billy’s entire existence, really. Billy just glared.

“What, not even a hello? I thought your dad would’ve taught you better by now, Billy,” the kid taunted. Billy’s eyes narrowed, suspicious and angry and simmering like a pot of water under flame. “Oh, wait. I get it,” King-Kid smirked, self-satisfied with his upcoming remark, “Your momma was supposed to teach you about manners, but you were so horrible at it that she left you. You were such a terrible son that you drove your own mommy awa--” 

The pot boiled. 

Billy charged him, head down, tackling him from his midriff and taking him to the ground. They hit the asphalt with a thud, the gasps of shock from the rest of the recess kids puffing through the air like the musical score to a movie scene. King-Kid’s eyes were wide with surprise, the air knocked out of his chest from the impact, breath hitching. Billy took no notice. 

He straddled King-Kid, fists clenched, and punched him across the face once, twice, thrice, again and again and again. When King-Kid broke free from his reverie, he fought back, twisting his torso so that Billy was thrown from it. He got a punch in, but soon Billy had the upper hand again. King-Kid’s face turned red with the blood from his nose. 

By the time the recess monitors were able to break through the crowd of kids regarding the fight with enthusiastic entertainment, it was clear that Billy had one the fight. He had hurt, and he reveled in it. For the first time in his life, he felt in control. He felt powerful. He loved it. 

Billy was sent home that day, suspended, and Neil smacked him once for making him leave work early to come get his “delinquent son.” He spoke no words of chiding for Billy’s actions, and for the first time in his life, Billy thought that he may have just made his father proud, in winning that fight. He may have just done something right. And that felt like victory.

When Billy returned to the school two days later, one thing was clear. There was a new king of the school. He thought that there was nothing better in the world than this.

  
  


*

  
  


There was only one person who ever truly tried to help Billy Hargrove.

Her name was Mrs. Adams. She was short, with mousy brown hair, pale skin, and insightful hazel eyes that seemed to be her only distinctive quality. She was plain. But she had one of the deepest hearts that Billy had ever known.  _ (Although everyone had a deeper heart than him).  _

He met her on his first day of fifth grade. By that time, Billy had learned self-preservation. At ten years old, he had learned that stealing kids lunches, picking fights with the other boys, punching, hitting,  _ striking _ , felt like so much of a relief. He lived for the release of skin on skin, the small bit of power he felt as his knuckles bruised and broke against the force of muscle and bone. The fact that Neil never punished him for it made it all the better. 

To all other teachers, Billy was a lost cause. He bullied kids, pushed people around on the playground, disrespected authority, and slept through class. They’d all given up on him, eventually, and the tales of his terror made their way up the grade levels through the staff room gossip. To everyone else, Billy was merely a hopeless disruption to learning. 

But not to Mrs. Adams. 

Mrs. Adams was infamous for her classroom motto of never leaving a kid behind. She didn’t believe in lost causes. On the first day of school, she stood in front of the class and looked them each in the eye, serious and steady. 

“Every single one of you has something to offer us in this classroom,” she said, her soothing voice sounding just like the warm hands of his mother caressing Billy’s long curls, soft, comforting, and present. “Every single one of you has something to contribute to the world. I don’t care what the other teachers have said about you,” her eyes met Billy’s, something fierce and defiant hidden in their honey-flecked depths. 

“To me, it doesn’t matter which side of the tracks you came from. It doesn’t matter who you were last year, or this summer, or yesterday for that matter. In my classroom, each of you has value. You are precious. I look forward to a future friendship with all of you. Welcome to fifth grade.”

Of course, Billy didn’t really pay attention to that motto. Or any of her first day speech, in all honesty. He zoned out in class the same way he always had. School was just a refuge from his father, nothing more. But walking from the bus stop that afternoon, Billy couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d felt when Mrs. Adams’ eyes had locked with his. The way she seemed to see right past all the concrete barriers that he’d put up over the years, through his tough exterior and penetrating right down into his soul. It was like she could see everything, every fear and lie and secret. It was as if she knew him already. That brought chills to his spine. 

  
  


In the four years since his wife had left, Neil Hargrove had gone through one set of divorce papers, two job promotions, and twenty-three girlfriends. Fifteen of those had moved in for a spell. Not one lasted more than four months. He still had only the one son, however.  _ (He’d yet to break him completely).  _ Multiple nights a week, Billy could hear those awful sounds in the bedroom next to his. He’d lie awake, unable to sleep but terrified to go downstairs for so much as a drink of water, his father’s temper red hot like a wildfire, unpredictable and dangerous in every moment. Those nights, Billy would only get an hour or two of sleep in the early mornings, when the house fell quiet and dawn approached in a silent sunrise. After those nights, Billy would arrive at school in an exhausted haze, mind clouded and temper sharp. Those days, Billy would lay his head between his arms on his desk, forehead pressed to the hard surface, safe. In those moments of safety, Billy would relax for the first time in over twelve hours, and he would fall into a soft, silent slumber. 

Most teachers became outraged with this action. They’d accuse him of being lazy; they’d send him to the principal's office, have him punished. “School is for learning, Mr. Hargrove,” they’d all say, condescendingly. “If my lesson is too boring for you, feel free to take the unit test in detention during lunch.” But Billy never changed. The lunch detentions made him all the more exhausted, with no food to steal off of the other students, he went hungry from breakfast to dinner. His behavior never changed. 

The first time Billy fell asleep in Mrs. Adams’ class, she gave the class their math assignment and set them to work on it first. Once the room was quiet and orderly, she walked the aisle to the back of the classroom, where Billy was slumped, asleep. She crouched down next to him, head lower than where his own was laid cushioned by his arms on the cool wood of the desk. Her fingers gently tapped his arm, soft and smooth and oh so gentle. 

“Billy,” she whispered, letting him come to reality gently. 

He blinked his eyes open, bags under his eyes from a sleepless night, eyebrows furrowed in a drowsy confusion. When they cleared, he jolted upright, body tense with guilt. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “He looked down on her kind face, mouth curved in a soft smile. “I’ll go to the office now.” 

“Why would you go to the office?” she asked warmly. “You haven’t finished the math I assigned yet, right?”

Billy looked around the classroom, at the pencils scratching on lined paper, addition and multiplication signs filling the brains of his peers. He shook his head. Mrs. Adams smiled, kindness like a warm glow around her. “Let’s get you started then.”

The next time Billy fell asleep in her class, two weeks later, she shook him awake and handed him a hall pass and a key. “There’s a nice window bench with a pillow in my office,” she told him quietly, eyes full of understanding and compassion. “I’ll bet it’s way more comfortable than that hard desk you’re on right now. Why don’t you go take a break in there?” 

She was right. The window seat was warm, midday sun feeling like a blanket over his ever-tense body. Billy slept better that day than he could ever remember sleeping. With the door closed, silence surrounding him, Billy was safe. He was free. And so he slept. 

  
  


From then on, whenever Billy would bumble into the classroom, eyes swollen and shadowed from a night of no sleep, Mrs. Adams would merely drop the key to her office on his desk. “Whenever you need it,” she’d say, hazel eyes shining with a kindness that only emerges from the best of people. Mrs. Adams was the best people. ( _ And Billy never could measure up to that. He was only the worst of people).  _

Mrs. Adams saw something great in Billy. She said as much in the letter she sent home with him one afternoon in early November, asking Neil if he would mind her helping Billy to polish that potential, make it shine like a diamond in the rough. “ _ Would you mind if I kept Billy after school on Wednesdays and Fridays,”  _ her letter said.  _ “I want to help him figure out his studies. I really do think he can be something great. If you can’t come pick him up afterwards, I would love to drive Billy home when we finish.”  _

Neil agreed. “Maybe she can teach my good-for-nothing son for once in his worthless life,” he sneered at Billy, hatred evident in his drunken gaze. He spilled his beer bottle on the letter, so his response was on the back of an old pamphlet a catholic church had slid under their door. In few words, Neil told Mrs. Adams that yes, he’d love for Billy to be able to catch up with the rest of his class in their studies, and that, unfortunately, he was at work late on both those days and would be unable to pick Billy up from the sessions. He thanked her graciously for her generosity in offering to drive Billy. 

The letter was much less put together and charismatic than Neil would usually present, but he was drunk and reeling from a recent breakup (with girlfriend number twenty-three), so Billy just accepted the letter and tucked it in his school folder, folded as nice and stately as a ten-year-old could manage. When he handed it to Mrs. Adams the next day, her face glowed with pleasure. And Billy-- really didn’t know how to respond to that, so he merely ducked his head, red to the tips of his ears, and shuffled back to his desk. 

  
  


*

  
  


Billy always suspected that Mrs. Adams somehow knew, from the very beginning. She knew everything from the moment that she looked into his eyes that first day, her eyes full of knowledge and kindness and compassion. From the first day of class, she treated him with a gentle sternness. And Billy— well, Billy thinks that he loved her for it. 

When their private tutoring lessons started, Mrs. Adams expected only the best out of him. Desiring his full attention, she made sure that he never bummed around in her presence. 

“Billy,” she had said on the first day, sitting in front of him at her desk in the same office he always slept in. The window was bright behind her, bluebird blue sky sharp with the autumn chill. “Do you know why we're here today?”

He avoided eye contact, not wanting to look into those eyes that seemed to bore into his soul and carry his secrets and shame. “Because I’m dumb?” he asked, words barely a mumble. 

Her pale face softened, eyebrows falling from their arched positions in a look that Billy couldn’t quite place. “No,” she began gently. “We’re here because you have potential. I meant what I said the first day of school. You have value that you can’t even begin to imagine. I want to help you not only succeed, but flourish. And I have faith that you won’t let me down, Billy.”

He wondered about that, for a long time after she dropped him at his house, after he walked through the door, after he made himself dinner and headed to bed. No one had ever seen him as anything valuable. His father seemed to think the opposite of him, a waste of money and time, he’d said before. And Billy’s mom obviously thought the same. If he had ever had any value, she would’ve taken him away from Neil with her. She would’ve helped him escape hell.  _ (But he didn’t deserve heaven at all).  _

Mrs. Adams believed it, however. With her whole being, Billy could tell. It confused him. Why would a average-looking middle-aged woman see something in him that no one else even glimpsed? But he wanted to believe her, he yearned to be worth something with all of himself. He wanted it so very bad. 

  
  


*

  
  


With the help of Mrs. Adams tutoring sessions and leniency in class, Billy’s test scores started to rise. He got his first C on an English test, and then a B on a pop quiz about the colonies, and, finally, an A on the unit exam in math. That afternoon, while working on a grammar worksheet in Mrs. Adams’ office, he couldn’t stop smiling. He seemed to emit joy like the sun warmth, his eyes brighter than they had been since his mom left. 

“What’s got you so happy,” Mrs. Adams asked, face soft with a relaxed happiness as she helped Billy work. 

“An A!” Billy exclaimed, putting his pencil down on the desk. He turned and looked at her, youth and happiness evident on his golden skin. “You gave me an A, and I've never ever gotten an A on anything before!” 

Mrs. Adams laughed, a pleasant, tinkling sound that filled the room. “I told you, Billy,” she smiled. “You have a lot of potential. I think you are one of the best kids I have in math, you only need to focus on learning the information. Pretty soon, you won’t even need me to help you with math at all!” 

When she pulled up to his house that evening, Billy hesitated in getting out of the car. His eyebrows furrowed, debating his next action. “Billy?” Mrs. Adams asked, puzzled by his sudden quiet. “Is everything okay?” 

He lunges over the seat, wrapping his arms tight around her in a passionate hug. His nose was pressed into her shoulder, and he smelled the flowery scent of her detergent. The seat belt was digging into his hip, but he didn’t care about the pressing pain of it. All he cared about was the feeling of embracing someone, and being embraced in retire. “Thank you,” he mumbled into her blouse. 

Her hand gently ran over the top of his head, smoothing down his blonde curls. “You are so welcome,” she murmured back. They stayed there, in that position, for a few moments longer. Then she pulled away, curling her neck to look his in the eye. “Now, off you go, get out of here,” she said playfully. He nodded, and turned to open the car door and step onto the asphalt of his street, his smile back on his face, clear as day. 

Not even the sounds coming from his father's room that night could ruin his mood. He was happy, and he was proud of himself. Someone cared about him. That was all that mattered. 

  
  


*

  
  


But all good things must come to an end, right? 

_ (It’s not like he deserved his good thing in the end).  _

  
  


*


	4. Chapter 4

The first time Mrs. Adams missed school, Billy thought nothing of it. Teachers got sick, just like kids did. Not sick like Billy gets sick, but every teacher he has ever had has had a cold at least once in the year. She was back the next day, no worse for the wear, eyes just as bright and knowledgeable as any day during the year. She smiled at Billy when he walked in, pulled him aside with gentle warm fingers on his arm. 

“Billy, I am so sorry that I missed our lessons yesterday without warning. I didn’t mean to put you in any awkward position at home,” she said. 

Billy, who had gone home on the bus and not seen his father until ten o’clock that evening, didn’t feel that there was an awkward position at all. What did she mean by that?

“It wasn’t a problem, Mrs. Adams,” Billy told her. “My dad works late anyway, and he didn’t know the difference. You don’t have to worry about it.” 

“Still,” she frowned. “I should have given you more warning, or found a way to contact you about it. Next time I'll make sure to let you know beforehand. Now,” she flicked her pale hand. “Off to your seat. I have things to teach and you have lots to learn!”

As he walked the aisle toward his seat, Billy thought back over their conversation. What did she mean by ‘next time?’ Was she planning on being gone again soon? Reaching his desk, Billy sat down. As Mrs. Adams clapped to get the class’s attention, drawing him out of his reverie. The thoughts drifted away like feathers in the wind, winding and twirling away until they left his mind completely. He thought nothing more of Mrs. Adams’ absence. He had no reason to. 

  
  
  
  


Billy had a reason to worry. It was January, and the school was on week two of being back from break. The class was still full of back-to-school craziness, students far too rambunctuous and loud for a teacher to handle. They were out of control. A large contributor to that fact was due to Billy’s problem: Mrs. Adams was missing.

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t  _ missing _ missing, but they’d been back for break for eight days and Mrs. Adams had yet to reappear. They had had a sub for the last eight days with no information from any adult on why Mrs. Adams was not present. Lunch gossip was completely focused on their missing teacher. 

“Maybe she’s on vacation,” suggested Suzie, voice as high pitched and annoying as always. She sucked on the straw of her juice box, loudly trying to reach the last few drops. Billy rolled his eyes. Why did he sit with her again?

“She would have told us if she would miss school, Suzie,” Eric explained with exasperation. “You know, maybe mentioned the fact in her speech about having a good break. ‘Happy holidays, class, and, oh by the way,  _ I’m not going to be in school when you get back _ , _ ’ _ ” Eric’s tone reflected the annoyance that Billy felt. 

Billy thought back to the last week before break. Their last day had been a Thursday, and Billy had one of his private lessons with Mrs. Adams the afternoon before. He craned his memory, but she had said nothing about missing school when they got back from break.  _ (Maybe he drove her away like he drove everyone away).  _

“Maybe she died!” Timmy exclaimed, eyes wide with the idea. “Maybe she got in a car accident over break and died so she can’t ever come back to school.”

“Shut up, Timmy,” Billy growled. Timmy listened to his king. “The principal would’ve told us if she died, and they would’ve found a permanent replacement for her. We’ve had five different subs in the last  _ week _ .”

The rest of the group agreed, and the conversation drifted away from conspiracy theories about their beloved teacher. But Billy couldn’t stop wondering exactly where Mrs. Adams was, and why she couldn’t even be bothered to show up for school. 

  
  
  
  


On the Friday ending week three of Mrs. Adams’ prolonged absence, there was a knock on the classroom door. The substitute, Mr. Brown or some other dumb and simple name like that, froze in his demonstation on the chalkboard about long division, bushy gray eyebrows furrowed in a puzzled confusion of who would be at the door. He walked over to it, opening the door to reveal the principal and vice principal waiting behind it. He welcomed them in, their expressions as grim and gray as the winter sky outside. 

They walked to the front of the class where Mr. Brown had been teaching just seconds earlier with a smile on his face. The weight of the air in the classroom seemed to increase with every step they took. 

“Hello class,” the principal began, looking over at the VP for reassurance. “I’m afraid I have some… rather unfortunate news to share with you today.”

Timmy looked over at Billy across the classroom.  _ She’s dead _ , he mouthed. Billy just rolled his eyes and looked away. He was nervous, though. What if she really was dead? What was he supposed to do if that happened? What really was going on?

“Mrs. Adams will not be coming back to school this year,” the principal continued, shaking Billie from the clutches of his innermost thoughts. His voice was sad, weak. “Over the break, she got very sick, and she had to go to the hospital.” He paused, as if contemplating exactly how to tell a group of fifth graders that their teacher wasn’t coming back. 

“Mrs. Adams has cancer,” gasps filled the room. “She’s… her prognosis isn’t looking very good. Please send her well wishes, and let us rally behind her in support and hope. Now, we will be looking for a permanent replacement for Mrs. Adams in the next week to take over where she left off…”

Billy zoned out, unable to focus on anything but one fact, circling through his mind endlessly, pounding in his skull like a pulsing migraine. 

Mrs. Adams had cancer.

Mrs. Adams was  _ dying _ .

_ (And it was all his fault). _

  
  
  


_ * _

  
  
  


One day, the morning after Neil painted Billy a particularly harsh set of black and blues, Billy got a phone call. 

No one else was home. It was just Billy and the insistent ringing of the telephone. He peeled himself off the couch-- the one he had dragged himself onto after his father left the room, not moving an inch since-- and he answered the phone in a meek, quiet voice. 

“Hello?”

“Is this Billy?” a male voice asked through the receiver, sounding kind and gentle and nothing at all like Billy’s father. 

“Yes. Who are you?” Billy shot back, putting on the King persona he always wore in school and around the streets, like nothing could touch him. He was in charge. No one else.  _ (Except his father).  _

“This is Mr. Adams; I’m your teacher’s husband.” 

Billy stilled with those words. “What do you want?”

“It’s not really what  _ I  _ want, Billy,” he could practically hear the smile in Mr. Adams’ voice. “Mrs. Adams wanted me to call you and invite you to visit her. I really wasn’t expecting you to be home; it is a school day…”

Mr. Adams trailed off, expecting Billy to say some excuse in his own defense. Billy stayed silent. 

“Anyway,” Mrs. Adams continued after an awkward, lengthy pause. “If you can, it’d be great for Mrs. Adams to see you. Are you able to get a ride to the hospital?”

  
  


Billy walked into Mrs. Adams’ hospital room at 2:13pm that afternoon. He’d taken a 90 minute bus ride from his house to the local one. The bus driver had taken one look at his bruised face and frayed clothes and scowled. Throughout the entire ride to his destination, Billy felt the glare of the driver and his fellow passengers, but he had refused to glance up from gazing out the window. It’s how everyone looked at him, treated him.  _ (It’s what he deserved).  _

Mrs. Adams look cold. That was Billy’s first thought when he saw her. She was covered only by a thin sheet and blanket, grey on white, making Mrs. Adams’ skin look paler than Billy had ever seen it. Or maybe that was the cancer. Billy didn’t really know how that worked, so. A man was sitting on a chair to the left of her bed, leaning into her in a form of delicate intimacy. His two hands were holding one of hers, tan and massive engulfing her thin and cold one. They were looking at each other in hushed conversation, eyes intense with-- with something that Billy had never really seen before. Maybe it was love, or what love was supposed to look like. Like you were meant to be together, formed by God to fit perfectly side-by-side, like puzzle pieces. When together, you can’t tell where one ends and the next begins. Like without the other, each of the Adams was merely a fragment of the real picture. Billy would never know that kind of love, he thought. He couldn’t know that kind of love.  _ (He was unloveable, after all).  _

Both Adams looked up when he stepped cautiously into the room, synced and wholesome. 

“Billy!” Mrs. Adams exclaimed joyously, like seeing him was something to be happy about, to love doing. Mr. Adams stood up from his seat and walked over to him, hand outstretched in a greeting handshake. His hand was as warm as it looked, solid, dependable. He felt like a firm foundation of a person. “It’s so great to finally meet you, Billy,” Mr. Adams told him, eyes locked with Billy’s in a comforting way. 

Mr. Adams led him to sit in the chair he’d previously been lounging in, and as Billy went to sit down, Mrs. Adams reached over to pull him into a hug. She was so frail, so thin, so delicate. He hugged her back, arms circled gently around her back, afraid that if he pressed too hard she’d shatter like a porcelain doll. He didn’t want to break her more than he already had. 

When they pulled away, she looked at him with those same eyes, the ones that seemed to know his every secret. They hadn’t changed, at least. She may have looked weak, but her eyes held the same loving intensity that they always had. She reached a hand up to his cheek, gently caressing a bruise Neil had left there the previous night. A slight frown moved her lips as she looked at it, a look on her face that Billy couldn’t quite place. She glanced over at her husband, and they seemed to exchange a silent conversation in that moment, coming to an agreement. She looked back to Billy and smiled. “How are you?” she asked, the moment passed. 

Billy sat there with her for an hour, as she asked him about school, the subs, his classmates, his life. “Are you keeping up with your schoolwork, Billy?” she questioned, eyes full of a deeper meaning. Yeah, she definitely knew. 

“Y-yeah, I guess,” Billy answered non committedly. Truth be told, he was having a hard time now that Mrs. Adams was gone. Without the naps she so graciously let him take, Billy was tired all the time. He couldn’t focus on anything in school other than not falling asleep. And when he failed, the teacher would smack him desk with a ruler, call him out in front of the class, sentence him to detention that evening. And after detention, he had to walk home because Neil could never know that it was going on. Even if he did know, Neil would never come pick Billy up. He got home every day even more tired than usual, and the fear that his father would learn of his struggles in school made it even harder to sleep than before. Billy was constantly on edge. His grades were suffering. But Mrs. Adams didn’t need to know that. 

“I’ve been doing good on the tests in math,” he told her, which wasn’t really a lie. He wasn’t getting any more A’s, but he was keeping steady C’s without doing the homework or listening to the lessons. Really, he was doing better than he should be. 

“That’s great Billy,” Mrs. Adams encouraged excitedly. “It’s just like I always told you. You are smart, and you have huge--” she cut herself off with a cough, hacking and harsh. And then she kept coughing, a violent and wet sound. Mr. Adams rushed over to her side, reaching for a glass of water on the bedside table. He helped sit up, rubbing her back and tipping the water into her mouth. Slowly, her coughing subsided, her eyes red and voice hoarse from the attack. Mrs. Adams looked over at Billy, face weary. “Sorry about that Billy,” she whispered, voice meek. 

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. All three members of the room looked out towards the doorway. Two men stood there, faces kind but serious. “Mrs. Adams?” One of them asked. He had light brown hair and was a very average-looking man. His companion was tall and striking, with dark hair, a strong jawline, and serious eyes. They both looked at Billy. “Is this Billy?” The man with light hair asked, walking into the room comfortably. 

Mr. Adams answered them in a friendly tone, like he had known the men were coming from the beginning. “John,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “Bruce,” he nodded to the tall man still standing in the doorway. “It’s good to see the both of you again. Thanks for coming.” 

He turned to Billy, eyes filled with comfort. “Billy, these two men are friends of mine. They’ve heard a lot about you from Mrs. Adams, and they would really like to talk to you, if you’re up for it.” 

Billy felt panicked. He looked over at Mrs. Adams, eyes pleading. Don’t make me go with them. I don’t have anything to give them. Please, he wanted to say, he tried to say with his eyes. She held his gaze sturdily, eyes sparkling with the knowledge they always held so deeply. “Go with them, Billy.” She told him. “They just want to see if they can’t do anything to help you. You can leave at any time, I promise.”

With one last departing hug from Mrs. Adams, Billy followed the men out of the room, up a few floors in the hospital elevator, to a comfortable room with a couch and a desk for them to speak in. They sat Billy down on the couch, closing the door behind them. 

“Billy,” John started, voice serious. “We wanted to talk to you about your dad.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “What about my dad?” he asked, suddenly nervous. Why did Mrs. Adams want him to come here? 

“Nothing specific, Billy,” John soothed. His eyes were soft as he looked at Billy. “We just want to know how your home life is, what your relationship with your dad is like. Do you mind humoring us?” 

Was this a test? Was Neil somehow involved in this… was he trying to prove how worthless Billy really was? No. Billy wouldn’t let that happen. Billy was going to prove himself to his father. 

“It’s good,” Billy said, holding John’s eyes firmly. “Last night, he even made me ribeye steak with baked potatoes. It’s my favorite meal--” a lie, Neil made himself the steak and Billy was stuck eating three-day-old Kraft mac-and-cheese for dinner. They didn’t need to know that, though. “--Not that I expect you to know the value in a perfectly cooked steak,” Billy ended cockily. 

John pulled back, eyes hardening at Billy’s snark. There. There was the doubt that Billy needed. He didn’t know what these two were trying to get Billy to say, how they were trying to “help” him, but if Billy could just make them  _ not _ want to help him, he would pass his father’s test. 

John frowned, looking back at Bruce behind him. Bruce seemed to shrug, leaning against the wall and watching the interaction carefully. John turned back around. “Billy, that bruise,” he started, voice a little more cautious and careful than before. “Did your dad hit you?” 

“What?” Billy exclaimed, shocked. Was Neil really testing him this way? Would he go this far? Billy doubted it, actually. But if he said yes, if his father found out… well, Billy knew that he’d be better off dead if he found out that Billy said anything about him. Besides, this was Billy proving himself. Finally, he could show his father that he deserved his love and trust. Finally. “No! Of course he doesn’t hit me dimwit,” Billy growled, as deep as his prepubescent voice would allow. He rolled his eyes. “A kid picked a fight with me yesterday after school. You think my face is bad,” he gestured. “ You should see what’s left of  _ him  _ instead.” 

  
  
  


When Neil came into the room at 3:17 that afternoon, his face was calm and serious, the perfect display of worry and confusion for his only son painted like a masterpiece. He spoke calmly with the two men, away from Billy’s hearing. They all glanced his way a few times, expressions unreadable. Billy only heard a brief snapshot of the conversation. 

“Where did you even get called to investigate, officers?” Neil had asked, brow furrowed in sympathy and worry. His voice was calm and soothing, comforting in a way he never spoke to Billy with. 

“I’m not sure I should disclose that information, sir,” John had replied voice hesitant. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Neil had said in reply. “You’re right, of course. I just… I can’t believe that someone would actually accuse me of-- of doing such horrible things to my own son!” Neil’s acting was so convincing, even Billy couldn't help but want to believe him. The two men seemed to feel the same. 

“Well, I’m afraid it was his old teacher,” John eventually began. “She claimed to have noticed habits typical of abuse in your son, Mr. Hargrove. However, please don’t be angry with her. She’s been diagnosed with cancer, and I’ve heard that cancer can make you see things that aren’t there sometimes, you know?”

Neil’s smile seemed to shine brighter than the California sun outside.

  
  
  
  


When Billy and Neil got home, Billy was sent to his room immediately. Neil didn’t beat him; Billy suspected that was because Neil was paranoid about the allegations and wanted the whole ordeal to die down before Billy was really punished for his mistakes. Billy didn’t get to eat outside of school for a week. 

That day in the hospital was the last time Billy would ever see Mrs. Adams. Looking back, Billy knows that he should’ve told those men the truth-- Mrs. Adams was only trying to help him. She was the only one who ever really tried to. And no one would again. 

  
Neil decided that, thirteen days after the hospital incident, he had waited long enough on punishing Billy. He beat Billy in a drunken rage. That same night, Mrs. Adams breathed her last breath. She never should’ve tried to help Billy. Doing so, he knew, would only get you hurt.  _ (No one can help a monster). _

_*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long to write oof sorry guys.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha 
> 
> I didn't die I promise. College nearly killed me (it killed all inspiration and hope for the year) but I made it out alive. This is suuuuuupper short but I promise I'll get more to y'all soon. 
> 
> enjoy ;)

When Billy Hargrove was twelve years old, his father brought girlfriend number twenty-four home. This one never left. 

Susan was nice enough, Billy supposed. She was older than Neil Hargrove usually preferred, with a spitfire of a daughter only a few years younger than Billy. But she was kind. Submissive. She had a universal job that paid well, being a nurse, and Billy couldn’t complain about her treatment of him. As long as Susan didn’t hit him, she was okay in his books.  _ (Even if he deserves every slap, every punch, every drop of blood he bleeds).  _

At first, Susan treated Billy with kid gloves. She, like all Neil’s girlfriends, took him out to ice cream after picking him up from school one day. He was in middle school now, and despite being only in seventh grade Billy was King of this school too, having kissed half of the popular girls and punched all the boys in his way  _ (never kissed the boys, no because that was wrong. He learned that lesson after Neil had beaten two men holding hands in the parking lot of a bar once, while Billy sat in the passenger seat of his car. “Fucking faggots,” his father spat. “Disgusting scum.” Neil never hit him for winning fights, but would kill him, like he almost did those men, for being like that. Billy wasn’t like that).  _ She tried to win his favor, but less so than the ones before her. She bought him ice cream that one time, but never again. After the first three months, she started to pretend Billy didn’t exist, really. Billy was fine with that. He preferred that, no supervision or tattletales if he snuck in late after his father passed out drunk  _ (it helped him avoid beatings, and that made Susan gold in his books. Even if she declined to feed him when Neil was out of town, or when he said something especially spiteful to her.)  _

But three months passed, and then four, and though Susan had yet to move in, unlike the other girlfriends who moved in after two weeks of a relationship, she was slowly becoming  _ part _ of Neil’s life, not just an accessory. Neil treated Susan like he had never treated anyone, kindly, lovingly; he looked at her like he had never looked at Billy’s mom, and it made Billy hate her. He hated that while he could not ever avoid Neil’s punches  _ (he would never be good enough to avoid his punches) _ and it was those punches that drove Billy’s mom away, Susan never was hit, or yelled at, or treated like dirt  _ (even if Billy was dirt himself) _ . Susan was happy. And he supposed that was what made her say yes. 

A year after Susan first started dating Neil, she came back to the house with a diamond ring on her finger, shining like something pure and beautiful. That night, Billy couldn’t sleep, the noise from his father’s bedroom loud enough to hear from across the street. An anger filled the pit of his stomach, bitter and dark and all-consuming. 

At dawn, Billy pulled on his wetsuit and surfed and surfed and surfed. It was not a beautiful day; a storm was brewing outside, the sky was a gray, windy mess, and the water was choppy and brutal. Billy  _ loved  _ it. He relished in the beatings he took when he wiped out, the water unforgiving and dark but not evil. It would let him go after pulling him under, allow him to get back on his board and ride again and again and again. Billy missed school that day, surfed through breakfast and lunch and didn’t get back out of the water until his arms were too weak to push him up to stand on the surfboard, until his legs gave out and the water pulled him under, the waves pushing him to shore. He lay there in the shallows, on his back, the waves gently lapping against his body and they came in and out, and he  _ breathed.  _ He breathed in the rain that was falling on his face, staring at the sky as it seemed to cry down upon him. It felt like it was crying  _ for _ him. ( _ At least something can feel for him).  _ His anger had dissipated, and he was left feeling better than he had in a long time. He felt light. Empty. It was  _ amazing _ .  _ (Because being empty was better than being full of worthlessness, of anger, of sadness. Emptiness was ideal, because it meant not feeling anything bad at all).  _

He trudged back up to the house, board dragging behind him, shivering in the wind as the rain began the pour and the thunder began to clap in the distance. Carefully sliding the surfboard into its place in the storage shed, he crept into the house, careful not to drip all over the floor. The clock above the oven told him the time was just after 4pm, and the house was quiet, Neil still at work and Susan still not moved in. Billy walked up the stairs to his bedroom, still feeling light and empty and something other than angry and hurt and anguish. He fell asleep with a smile on his face. 

*

Billy Hargrove was 13 years old when he met Max. She moved in after the wedding, all fiery red hair and a little spitfire of anger and prepubescent emotions that seemed to burn out of her like actual sparks. She hated Neil. She hated him, for taking away her only chance to see her family whole again  _ (Billy never had that chance),  _ for marrying her mom and convincing her to bring Max into their fucked-up little family, as if they needed a child present to make the home a  _ home _ . As if Billy didn’t exist.  _ (As if Billy wasn’t anything but a waste of space.)  _

Max hated Neil. And Billy kind of loved her for it. 

In a way, Max was Billy’s safe haven. In front of her, Neil never touched Billy. Sure, he was still cruel, putting Billy down in every possible situation  _ (calling Billy faggot, useless, monster)  _ but he never hit Billy around Max. When Max and Susan first moved in, it was like surfing on a perfect day: barely a breeze, the sun hot enough to combat the chill of the Pacific, the sky a clear, cloudless blue. Billy glided through that time like he surfed the waves on those perfect days, with ease and a joy at the ease of it all. Billy got fed three meals a day for the first time since he was  _ six _ ; he had no bruises to cover up; he never had to stay up late cleaning up a mess of blood and glass; his attendance was up and his grades quickly followed. He was free to surf and live life in a sunny state of being. 

But here’s the thing about those perfect days: they are quickly followed by massive storms that wreck and destroy. 

_ (Billy should have known).  _

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise more will come soon! Keep commenting and I'll be further inspired to continue writing. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Max was nine years old when she first met Billy Hargrove. 

He was an absolute  _ dick _ .  _ (Don’t tell her mom she said things like that, though. She learned it on the back of the school bus and loved using the words and phrases. Her mother would not approve).  _

_ _ It was a little peculiar, the way they met. Or more, the peculiar thing was  _ when _ they met. She had met Neil Hargrove, his dad, the year before, just after their parents had started dating. Max’s mom had invited him over for dinner, and over time it became a weekly occasion. However, even though Neil came over for dinner at least once a week for the better part of a year, Billy never once tagged along. Even weirder, Max’s mom never mentioned it. Max had learned early on that Neil had a son, about four years older than her, and eventually she learned that his name was Billy, in passing. But not once did he show up for dinner, not even after Max came home from her dad’s house to find Susan with a new ring on her finger. 

At first, Max supposed Billy was just at his mom’s house, like she was at her dad’s, whenever the weekly dinner occurred. Then, she shrugged it off as Billy sleeping over at a friends house, or being sick, or just not wanting to come over at all. Eventually, Max forgot about Billy entirely, too wrapped up in the gifts that Neil would buy her in order to woo her to his side to remember that Billy even existed.  _ (A new watch, a new skateboard that was customizable, a year-long membership pass to the local arcade--she will never have to dig in the couch for loose change again!)  _ And Neil was good to her mom, good for their family. Susan’s nurse’s salary could only provide so much in a California beach town, and their apartment was never in the best shape to begin with. It was the only place they could afford, after the divorce, and Susan never really had the attention span to look for new places, better places, once they settled in. Neil made her mom happy, happier than Max’s dad ever made her, and for that, Max would give anything. So, she allowed the gifts to woo her, as long as the gifts kept coming, and she decided that she liked this Neil guy. He was a good man. 

*

“You look like a twig on fire.”

“Your skin is whiter than my homework. Do you even live in California? Or ever go outside, vampy?”

“Have you ever tried to tame that mane of yours? Your hair looks like a bird tried to nest in it.”

All of these things were said by Billy to Max within the first hour of meeting. It was the evening of the engagement party; they were on the beach, which was apparently not far from the Hargrove’s house  _ (soon to be her house, her home, within a walking distance of the beach. How lucky was she). _ The party had started around sunset; a vibrant, beautiful sunset of golds and reds and pinks, all reflected beautifully over the Pacific ocean that was calming and peaceful and perfect for the occasion. Max was wearing a sundress that her mom had forced on her, even at nine years old she hated dresses and beauty products. ( _ She just wanted to skateboard and wear jeans and t-shirts like any boy, show that she was better than all of them, despite the fact that she was a girl).  _

In the dusk following the sunset, her mom called her over from the bonfire where she was playing with some of the other kids, lighting sticks on fire and running to the water to dowse their flames, seeing who could last the longest with the flame in hand, who could run fastest to put it out. Max was winning, letting the fire nearly touch the skin of her index finger before she took off to shove the stick under the lapping waves of the shore. She looked up as she heard her name called, standing from her seat on the log acting as a bench to walk up to the tables that were lined with fairy lanterns and tiki torches, creating a beautiful night under the stars. 

Her mom pulled her into a one armed hug as she came near, leaving her arm wrapped around Max’s shoulders as she walked toward where Neil was stood, leaning over and talking to someone shorter and skinnier than himself. “There’s someone we want you to meet,” Susan said softly, staring at Neil with an adoration in her eyes that made Max happy. Susan’s figure was outlined in a red-gold shine from the fire, the moving light making her hair seem to glow as if it were flame itself. She was beautiful, Max knew. And happiness made her all the more so. 

When Max and her mother reached Neil, he straightened and smiled at her, gentle and charismatic as always. “Maxine,” he said, “This is my son, Billy.” Billy had his head down, staring at the ground intensely, his golden hair a mess of curls that curtained his face. His father shoved him in the back, and he jolted forward, surprised  _ (later, Max would wonder if it wasn’t a flinch that jolted him forward, but for now she assumed it was only the surprise of a boy lost in thought, tired at the end of the night).  _ He looked up at Max, meeting her eyes, and grinned in an almost feral way. He put out his hand, and Max tentatively took it in her own. His grip was tight, almost painful, but she couldn’t break eye contact, not with eyes so piercingly blue and alive. The handshake felt like it lasted a small infinite, but really it lasted mere seconds. 

“Billy is going to be your brother, Maxine,” her mom said happily. “Your very own big brother. I think it’s time you two get to know each other. Why don’t you sit down and talk while we adults mingle a little more?” Max wanted nothing more than to go back to the fire and play with the other children, nothing more than to ignore this Billy person, whom Neil had only ever spoken ill of in passing, but she loved her mom too much to ignore her wishes.  _ (If she had been paying attention, she would have seen the threatening look Neil gave his son, and the way that Billy seemed to shrink into himself as he did so. SHe would have also seen the way her mother watched it all happen, and chose to ignore it. Max’s thoughts kept her far too preoccupied to notice much at nine years old, though).  _ So, Max nodded, and turned to face Billy as her mom and Neil walked away, hands entwined as they walked through a path lit by tiki torches and starlight. 

And that started the conversation in which Max was insulted more times than she had ever been insulted in her  _ life _ . He critiqued her hair, her figure, her clothes. He questioned her intelligence. He spoke so condescendingly she couldn’t stand to even be near him. Within ten minutes of meeting him, she turned on her heel and stormed away, rage boiling in her stomach. She remembered that Neil had said, in passing, that his son was a delinquent, a fool, an idiot, a monster. Max thought he was a  _ dick _ . SHe hated him, and she agreed with Neil in every way.  _ (She believed him, and she never questioned. Maybe she should have questioned him. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference).  _

*

  
  


Max was ten years old when her mom became a Hargrove. It was three months after the engagement party. A beach wedding, just as the party had been, and just as beautiful. When her mom walked down the aisle, Max would have swore she’d never seen a person as pretty, or as happy, as she. She practically glowed. It was a lovely ceremony. 

Three months after meeting him, Max still hated Billy. She found solace in the fact that she wouldn’t have to live in the same house with him all the time. Max still went to her dad’s house every other week; she would continue to do so even after they moved in with the Hargrove’s, a process that would be complete the next week. Her dad’s house might become her sanctuary, she knew, if Billy drove her as mad as she thought he might. He was the only bad apple in the basket of good ones that Susan’s relationship with Neil had brought. 

But she would bear it, for her mom. Besides, she was always a pessimist. How bad could living with Billy actually be?  _ (Terrible, really, but never in any way that she could predict).  _

*

Living with the Hargrove’s was… different than she was expecting. Actually, it was a lot better than she expected it would be. It seemed like Billy barely lived there. By the time she woke up every morning, he was out surfing. He wouldn’t come back until after her mom and Neil had left for work; the school buses came after the time both had to leave. The middle-school bus left first, and Billy would rush into the house, hair still wet, change out of his wetsuit and speed out the door, all within ten minutes of the bus’s arrival. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even eat breakfast. If he did, it was only an apple or a banana, eaten on the run. It was like Billy didn’t acknowledge her presence at all; in fact, he blatantly ignored her, aside from a few snide, dickish comments that he murmured to her when Neil wasn’t around. After school, when she was dropped off by the school bus, he was always in his room blaring loud music. Either that, or he wasn’t home at all, stuck in detention for some fight that he picked (and always won). 

Interestingly, as soon as five-thirty hit, ten minutes before Neil would arrive home on a day with no traffic, the music shut off. 

  
  


The first genuine, positive interaction Max had with Billy was on a Monday morning in the springtime, when school was out of session for one holiday or another. She knew that Billy would be out surfing all day, if he could. He had been particularly rude to her the night before, and she had had enough. She had done nothing to deserve his negativity, and her built-up rage pushed her to confront him. So, Max followed Billy to the beach.

It was windy, but not cold. The wind made Max’s already wild hair even messier, and she grunted in frustration as it blew around her eyes and mouth. Billy was already in the water, oblivious to her presence. 

“Hey!” She called, trying to get his attention. The wind shortened the distance that her words could travel. She approached the water, stopping just before her shoes got wet in the lapping waves. “Hey Asshole!” She screamed, and Billy’s head snapped up, noticing her for the first time. He paddled to the shore, a scowl distorting his tanned features. 

“Yes, Maxine?” He asked, his voice condescending and rude. “Is there some monster I have to save you from, or is this a social visit?”

Max hated him, hated that he could spar so well with words and her younger brain came up empty of retorts. When she stayed silent, glaring at him, and he sighed, rolling his eyes as he shifted from his seated position on the board, getting ready to paddle back out onto the waves. 

“Why do you do that?” Max finally asked, gritting her teeth to stay composed. She needed answers, needed to know why he hated her so much. Billy paused his movements, turning his head back towards her, considering her question. 

“Do what?” He returned, voice low and serious.

Max laughed, a humorless, biting sound. “Treat me like some horrible dirt underneath you. Hate me, when I have done nothing to you! Why are you so  _ mean? _ ” Billy’s eyes widened, but Max wasn’t done. “Really, you are just such a dick. Like, what kind of asshole treats people the way you treat me? Seriously, you act like I’m the reason that your life sucks, but I hate to break it to you, buddy, but I’m not the reason your mom left. I had nothing to do with Neil meeting my mom, so you should blame someone other than me for your oh-so-terrible life, surfer boy. You absolute dick!” Max was practically shouting, out of breath, but she felt a lot better, her rant finished. 

To her surprise, Billy laughed. Not in a cruel, evil way, but genuine laughter, light and cackling. It made him look younger, this laughter, lighter somehow. It made him seem less menacing, more like a boy. Max was shocked. 

“Oh man,” Billy said in between his laughter, breathless. “Oh Maxine, I didn’t think you had it in you. But you are a little spitfire, aren’t you?” His guffawing calmed down, his breathing calm aside from the occasional chuckle as he exhaled. His eyes were bright, sparkling with humor. 

Max felt anger rise up inside her again, and she glared at him, ready to grab his hair and push his head underwater, but he held up a hand, cutting her words off. “I wanted to see how you would  _ react _ , Maxine,” Billy said, grinning. “If you were a pushover or not. Boy, you are just as lively as I hoped you’d be. Took you long enough.” 

Max rolled her eyes, refusing to give in to whatever he was trying to do. Billy studied her, for a long moment. She didn’t move. 

“Do you know how to surf?”

Max looked up in surprise. “ _ What _ ?” she asked. That was not what she had been expecting. He looked at her, knowing she had heard him, refusing to repeat his question. She sighed. “No, I don’t.”

“Wanna learn how?” Billy grinned. She stared at him, eyes wide, unsure if he was actually being genuine. After a moment, she nodded. “Yeah, I do. But if you push me in the water or steal my board, I’m telling mom and she’ll ground you for like, a million years!”

Billy rolled his eyes, but more playfully than he used to. “Go get a bathing suit on, Maxine, and I’ll grab you a board. Meet me back here when you’re done.” 

Max bit her lip. “It’s Max,” she said. “Only mom and Neil call me Maxine. It’s a stupid name. Call me Max.” 

Billy grinned, and shooed her away with a flick of his fingers. “Alright, Max, move your butt or the deal if off.” Max ran towards the path leading to the house. 

  
  


That day, Max rode her first wave. It was a bit like riding a skateboard, and nowhere near as fun, but it was still cool. Billy and Max laughed all day, and for the first time, Max found herself thinking that this is what having a big brother was like. 

And if she was tackled off her board into the water, it was more as revenge for having done it to Billy first than it was evil intentions. Max resurfaced laughing. 

It was the first day that Max truly liked Billy.  _ (If only those days could have lasted forever).  _

_ * _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you I'd be back! 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed this one. I love constructive criticism to improve my writing, so feel free to voice any thoughts you have (please say it nicely though haha).
> 
> Have a great week friends!

**Author's Note:**

> Title From "Shake it Out" by Florence + the Machine


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